Fascination
by It's Just That
Summary: [ONESHOT]SLASH!AU! HPTMR For Squick. Tom the model tries to woo Harry the feral Healer. 'No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.'


Lovely.

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_**DEDICATION: To Squick, who only ever bothers to read A/Ns. ;)**_

_**DISCLAIM IT: **_I don't own it. Else if I did, you'd see Harry in cat-ears and a tail attached to his back.

**Title**: Fascination

Warnings: TOTALLY AU. OOC. SLASH. SEMI CRACK-FIC. Young Tom, young everyone. In this universe, Tom's a model, Harry's a healer with a kinky side, and Lucius and Severus are strange aristocrats. Draco's just there, merely for decoration. This is sort of a crack-fic, so, read at your own risk. And not to worry, there's nothing too graphic. ;d

Summary: In which Tom the model tries to woo Harry the feral Healer.

Rated: T for Teens. Mwhahah.

**EXTRA A/N: I'll give ya a cookie if you can spot the **_**Gone With the Wind**_** quotes. ;d**

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Tom was hot stuff. Oh yes he was, and there was no denying it. Broad, hallowed cheekbones, glittering garnet eyes, sensuous lips and a patrician nose made up his stunning visage, and he was very well, and _easily _one of the most handsome models around. Nothing could compare to his chiseled features—well, maybe except the Malfoy family. His eyes narrowed into a displeased look, and he hissed to himself. The dratted blonds were something that none could compare to, having been infused with veela blood from long ages past. But Tom could really care less, since his family had been infused with incubus blood. He calmed then, smoothing his shining cinnamon locks back with a slender hand. There was nothing to worry about. If he couldn't best the Malfoy's in looks, then he could best them in magical prowess. That he could do effortlessly.

As the in-demand model briskly strode down a nameless path of Diagon Alley, he spied his reflection on a nearby dusty mirror, and smirked in satisfaction. Oh yes, he was _very _hot. He'd peel the skin off potatoes with just one fiery glance!

Furtive looks and muffled whispers swept all around him, like a eulogy to his ears. Sighs of admiration and gazes of envy not only swelled his ego, but caused his nose to inflate to an unbearable size. It wasn't as if anyone could actually _see _his ego-swelling appendages—and for that, Tom was grateful. He preened under their attentions, sending dazzling smiles this way and that, causing more than one female's heart to fall, shatter, and die. Sometimes, not even in that order. However, a moment later, he glided to his destination: _The Leaky Cauldron_, much to his fans' disappointment.

He treaded across the cobblestone street, passing the hunched-back figure of the innkeeper, who was also, unfortunately, named Tom.

"Good to see you, sir!" the man spoke, tittering this way and that, trying in vain to gain the model's attention. Why? Tom hadn't a clue, and he frankly didn't care either.

"Here," he said, pressing a fifteen-galleon note into the innkeeper's gnarled hands. Confused, the man stared at him awhile longer than necessary, before shaking his head. He looked vaguely insulted, but Tom knew that the Innkeeper had to get his money somehow. "Keep the change," he murmured, already up and into his favorite room—_seven_. There was just something about that room that called to him. Perhaps it was the snake embossed onto the bathroom's entrance, or it was perhaps the view of Diagon Alley, in all of its dreary glory. Tom didn't know. But what he did know, was that he really liked the room. The talking snake was just an added bonus.

With a click, Tom locked the door. He paced away into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the firm mattress.

Earlier in the day, he had been doing reconnaissance about a certain, reclusive man that went by the name of Harry Evans. From what he and his sources gathered, the man was an occasional Quidditch player for the _Montrose Magpies_. His grades from Hogwarts were nearly above average, if one counted his DADA, Charms, and Transfigurations. He was abysmal at Potion-lore, but was rather adept to healing. With his affinity for that particular area, Harry became a Healer for _Saint__Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies_ at the shocking age of eighteen, and had passed their exams with out-of-the-roof scores. He was a doctor, a nurse, and a caretaker when needed, and when Tom had espied the healer a few months ago, his interest was piqued.

He had to know more about Harry.

It was as simple as that.

So the garnet-eyed model delved deeper and deeper into the enigmatic man's life. Harry was one of the most brilliant healers to ever walk across the face of the earth. From what Tom had read in _Transfigurations Today_, Harry was, in simple terms, "_Absolutely Divine!"_ He felt a snort, and Tom turned it into a discreet cough. The witches that wrote that article about him were right. Harry was divine.

Hypothetically speaking, of course. This was just from his point of view…

Tom was tempted to beat his head into the headboard for such impure thoughts. He was Tom ala Voldemort in model signature! He needed to be cold, regal, and most of all composed. Models of his caliber did not just admit that other people were 'divine'! It just wasn't right.

A few, guilty moments later, his shoulders slumped.

…Oh who was he kidding?

Scowling darkly, Tom rolled over and onto his stomach, reveling in the fact that the sheets were just to his liking. As always. Somehow, good old Innkeeper Tom knew that the model liked silky sheets of any color. He deserved another galleon or two.

"Sir?" Someone tentatively knocked on his door.

"Identify yourself," said Tom, now lying on his back. He then propped his head onto his hand, elbow crumpling the soft coverlet beneath him as he gazed passively at the wooden door.

There was a shuffle of feet before a small, "_Innkeeper_," was heard. Tom's lips curved, and he was acutely aware that the man had not used his own name. He deserved another three galleons.

"What is it you want?" he asked.

"There's nothing I want, sir. I just came to inform you that there's a floo-call, from a _Lucius Malfoy_, down the stairs and into the second drawing room."

The effect was instantaneous. Tom fixed his disheveled appearance, cast a breath-cleaning charm, and sped out of Room Seven, uncaring that the Innkeeper had jolted away from the door in alarm. Over his shoulder, Tom threw a twenty-galleon note. "You deserve that, Innkeeper, so don't try to even protest!" Tom was already down the stairs, and into the second drawing room, at a loss for breath. He composed himself, briefly smoothing his hair down and walked calmly the rest of the way to Lucius.

"Good afternoon, Malfoy," he greeted the tall, imposing blond seated by the fireplace. "A pleasure to meet you at this hour," Tom added, and gracefully seated himself next to Lucius, who let out a cold smile.

The man then inclined his head, arctic gray eyes boring into Tom's garnet ones. "And a good afternoon to you too," Lucius murmured in a velvety voice, black gloved hands twitching. "Have you heard from Draco yet?"

"Of what?"

"So you haven't," said Lucius in disappointment, and at Tom's inquiring glance, elucidated, "He owled me a day ago, and it has been on the first page of _Witch Weekly_ that he has come into his veela inheritance—"

"Quite late," butt in Tom, tucking his hands into his lap primly.

"No doubt to that," agreed Lucius. "But inheritance varies with each and every person; at any case," he waved a hand dismissively, "Draco is a fine man by himself. Unable to carry on the Malfoy line with a woman, since he lies with men. I do not mind this at all, although he has to be more discreet in his relationships."

"Like with that Charlie Weasley," said Tom, wrinkling his perfect nose. He didn't really like the Weasley family since they were muggle-loving abominations, but he didn't really at all mind them. Not unless they were opening their big mouths and yappering away like dogs about things they had no clue about. Then he wanted to hex them like mad.

"Don't remind me," Lucius muttered, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust. "How on earth Draconis was so attracted to a member of the Weasley clan, is well beyond my capabilities to comprehend. And quite frankly, I don't even want to _try _to comprehend it."

"Then don't," Tom agreed lightly, with a curve of his eyes. "At the very least, know that your son has good taste in men—that Charlie Weasley is _raw _sex on legs."

They both shared a long laugh, sipping the brandy that Lucius brought with him. Gradually, their laughs became chuckles and their chuckles became coughs. Tom was the first to speak. "So Malfoy," he said, fingering the empty wine glass in his slender hands, "Why have you come, really? Usually, you'd owl me a day before you make an appearance but… today seems rather different."

"Indeed it is," said Lucius in a stiff tone. "At our last meeting, you asked me to look up a certain _Harry Evans _correct?" There was a nod. "Good, because I fear you may not like what I tell you."

Tom grunted. "Just tell me," he said. "It's probably not _that _horrible."

Lucius smiled grimly. "I'm afraid it is, friend. Your Harry Evans has strange blood—he is half feral."

"Feral?" Tom tasted the word on his tongue, rolling it around before swallowing. "You're not telling me that he is half human, half animal?"

"I am," replied Lucius calmly, drawing his robes closer to his body. "Be careful if you plan to woo the Healer. I fear he may not like what you do—especially since he fought in the war in Africa." The Patriarch of the Malfoy family was referring to the massacre that had occurred there, when Hungarian Wizards tried to take over. It was a gruesome war that was still on-going to this day, and in spite of British wizarding assistance, nothing was solved.

Tom deliberated. "Sounds like a challenge," he said at last, but with resolve. "I like challenges."

"Then I bid you good luck," stated Lucius seriously. "You may need it."

-

-

He started sending Harry flowers. He sent the Healer a bouquet arranged of orange Peruvian lilies, large sunflowers, and red carnations. Tom had been ecstatic when Harry had replied with a short, gruff note that read:

_Dear admirer,_

_I thank you for the flowers. I've… never gotten flowers before, so my thanks._

_H. Evans_

The second time Tom sent Harry flowers; they were arranged beautifully in a white basket. Lavender orchids, hibiscus flowers, primroses, and the rare Dragon Hart flowers were twined together in a lovely arrangement within a strip of gauzy white fabric—it distantly reminded Tom of a particular bower in Hogwarts. The bower had belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and he had somehow stumbled into it by accident, whilst hiding from Professor Dumbledore for his midnight study sessions at the library. In those filmy, light chambers, Tom was comforted to realize that the books there were filled with life and _ye olde magic_ from Rowena's time. Naturally, Tom had taken this opportunity to study and memorize them.

Harry's second letter was longer, and much more confused than the first.

_Dear whoever you are,_

_As much as I appreciate the meaning behind these flowers, what do you want really? I don't know whether to trust my instincts in this matter or not, since I've been called paranoid one too many times. To be honest, I don't know you. By sending me these wonderful presents, I hope you know that I won't feel the least bit inclined to see you at all. If you want to truly capture my heart, tell me about yourself, in actions, words, or in less than words._

_Harry_

While reading the second letter for the umpteenth time, Tom whooped for joy, sending the snowy white owl that had delivered the letter, to hover out of the window and hoot loudly in protest.

"Sorry," he apologized to it sheepishly, garnet eyes shining with happiness. The owl hooted and seemed to snort, then bent to peck Tom on the finger. Much to his chagrin, it left before Tom could do anything to harm it.

For a while he sat there in his study, just staring at the letter in his hands. Then, suddenly he pranced to his bedroom and nearly did a somersault. Tom did not wonder why he was so… happy with just these terse letters from a Healer. There was nothing spectacular about Harry in looks and, if records told him right, nothing except Quidditch and Medical honors to hold him to. Harry was quite ordinary. Minus his feral side. But Tom was just… just so inexplicably happy that it made him break out into a wide grin.

As the light waned, Tom pondered whether or not to send the Healer a different sort of gift. One that soothed the mind, and healed the soul. He considered the locket he had gained from Slytherin, then thought better of it.

He needed to find a present that conveyed his admiration for the young Healer.

-

-

He thought of sending Harry a treasure trove filled with jewels and gold of all delight. It was from the last Dragon Master of the century, and he had given it to Tom as a favor. He had also given Tom a special dragon egg, and said that it was for a special person. Tom had no doubt it was.

So he spent more time deliberating.

Should he send it? Or should he send the egg?

Troubled, Tom stood on his balcony, leaning onto the marble railing. He had just arrived in his villa in France a day ago, and in a matter of hours, he had to attend a photo shoot for the magazine, _Witch Weekly_. The striking sable-haired man wasn't at all too annoyed at being called up so late (he was, after all a freelance model), but he really did want a heads-up before anything. Tom sighed.

-

-

Tentatively, Tom knocked on the white door in front of him. He had finally gotten Harry's address, and was nervous about meeting the Healer. He wanted nothing more to sink into the ground, when the door creaked open, and brilliant green eyes peered from behind it.

Then, the door fully swung open, and Harry was there, only wearing a thin white shirt and cobalt shorts, displaying his nice and rather long legs. "Hello?" asked Harry, bewildered. The Healer tipped his head sideways, shaggy black hair obscuring his face.

Tom covered his nose, instinctively knowing that it was already gushing with blood. "H-hello," he stuttered, then mentally slapped himself. He was losing his touch! "Hello, I mean," he said firmly a second later. "I'm… your admirer," he then finished lamely, wandlessly fixing the trickle from his nose.

Harry's eyes widened, and his smile caused Tom's heart to go into palpitations. "I knew it was you!" he cried, and was about to draw Tom into an embrace, but thought better of it. Instead, he ushered Tom into his large house, and seated him onto a comfortable pitch-black sofa.

"Cara!" Harry called.

"Yes, sir?" A plump, dark skinned woman with mocha eyes instantly appeared at the doorway.

"Please ready some tea and biscuits for the guest and me."

"Yes sir." She bowed and went out.

"So," said Harry, leaning across the glass table from Tom, who by now, was trying in vain to stop his heart from dying out. When did he ever get so flustered? He was a _model_! He had to act the part of bitchy ice-queen! He coughed a bit, in acknowledgement.

Harry once again smiled brilliantly. "I really did like those flowers," he said. "Are you, by chance, here to proclaim your undying love for me?" This statement made Tom choke on the chamomile tea offered by Harry's maid two seconds before.

"I—what-?" he said, wiping his mouth daintily with a napkin.

"Are you, or are you not going to proclaim your undying love for me?" repeated Harry levelly, green eyes widening to their zenith, a look that Tom knew Harry reserved for his lovers.

"N-no!" exclaimed Tom, flushing. "I came here to ask you out on a date!"

"A date-?" A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose in skepticism.

"Yes, a date," said Tom in a firm voice. "I thought you might want to get to know each other, and here it is."

"Sounds interesting," was all Harry said, and summoned a few more biscuits onto his plate. "What, by chance do these 'dates' entail? Certainly not anything… strange, do they?" There was an odd glimmer in Harry's eyes, and Tom gulped.

"No, just an outing to Clement's Restaurant, in France," said Tom honestly. He tried hard not to think about the way Harry's eye subtlety ran over him, appraising every inch of his body. But Tom couldn't help but preen inside. Yes he was a lovely hunk of man flesh. Perfect in all ways and form if one did not count his flawed personality and attitude detachment.

"Let's go then," said Harry. "I haven't all day. I must go to operation in…" The young Healer checked his watch. "Five hours. Is that good enough for you?"

"…" Tom gave Harry a depressed look before finally answering.

"Yes, it is," he said, rather glumly.

"But if you want to know, I'm glad that you asked me out on a date!" Harry then declared, pushing Tom into the sofa and pecking him softly on the lips. "This will be my first date!"

Tom dazedly picked his brain up from the proverbial gutter, mutely following Harry into the fireplace. His garnet eyes, all the while glued onto the fine posterior of one very smug and feline-eyed Healer.

-

-

Their light meal only lasted a few minutes, but Harry managed to prolong it and make it seem like eight hours. The green-eyed wizard had earlier charmed the waitress into give them a house discount, and even went so far as to get the manager's number by a few, flirtatious winks. Tom was aghast himself in near-amusement, but he calmed down and eventually laughed with Harry that yes, this date started well, and yes, he hoped that it ended well too.

"So, tell me about yourself—"

"Tom Riddle," Tom answered with a winning smile. Harry reciprocated with another of his impressive smiles.

"—Tom, then. Please do," he said, pushing his hair back.

Placing his fork onto the plate, Tom glanced at Harry through thick lashes and said, "I'm vain, conceited, an all-around jerk and I'm arrogant to boot. I'm damned proud of these though, and my accomplishments have not only swelled my already inflated ego, but have flawed me from the inside out."

"Quite the accurate description," commented Harry, amused. "I didn't need you to be so brutally honest with yourself, but, as it was, you were. In any case," Harry's lips twitched, "I'm a Healer, there are two sides to me, and I like sweets, and hate a lot of other things. This hate list does include women, since my experience with them has been…" His face became strained, as he continued, "somewhat of an anomaly."

"I should think," began Tom silkily, "that with your disposition as a Healer, that one would be inherently good with females."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Too right!" he agreed. "But sadly, women just don't fit the bill. I suppose it had to do with my first-ever girlfriend being Ginny Weasley."

"That wench?!" Tom spat his wine out, then quickly recovered and composed himself once more. He pressed his face closer to Harry's, their noses almost touching. His voice was but a whisper, "The one that slept with more than half of the Ministry men combined? The one that created a whole new STD and killed herself in the process!?"

"Yes, that wench," said Harry, with another laugh. "She was horrible, I should say. Never mind how much I did for her—let her do to me—she was _always _just demanding something. Whether it was to do her, or to get her something, it really just annoyed me. We didn't even go out on dates—we just… did stuff." Harry shrugged helplessly. "So I broke it off."

"I see," muttered Tom, pressing his forehead into his hands.

"Yes, I guess you do," answered Harry, smiling.

-

-

"Hey Harry, what do you see?" asked Tom, as they sat there, in a muggle park's swing set. "I mean, as part of your animal inheritance, you _would _be able to see more than a normal wizard or muggle, correct?" The feline-eyed man bobbed his head, then stared straight up at the sky. When he spoke, his voice was solemn, full of thoughtful inflection.

"Yeah, that's true." He paused, then said, "I see a lot of things, but most of all, my eyesight always seems to just see _you_."

"And how do I look?" voiced Tom, curious.

"Your hair—I see every single strand of black and cinnamon, twined together to form those long strands that fall past your shoulders. I see your eyes, eyes the color of rubies. There are stripes of sea green in them, as if they were meant to be there, rather than the red. I see the faint flush on your cheeks from this chilly night. I see the way your eyelashes flutter whenever you take a long minute to breathe in, and I see your mouth, a mouth that looks always to be in a perpetual frown."

"How poetic." Was all Tom could muster up to say.

Harry laughed. "There's more you know," he said, in a distracted tone. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a fleeting smile caressing his lips. "I smell your scent—of rich cigars, wine, unsurprisingly cinnamon, and the food we ate earlier. You smell nice."

Amazed, Tom stared at the Healer, awe written clearly in his garnet orbs. "You see and smell a lot more things than I can, obviously!" He managed a laugh and shook his head. "Then again, it's all right, seeing as though your legacy consists of magical creatures."

"Since when did you know about that?" questioned Harry, eyebrows elevated. "I never really told anyone, and there's not much known about me. I'm an exclusive person, if you haven't noticed," he added, smilingly.

"So I can tell," chuckled Tom, swinging on the swing like a child. He hadn't done this in years, since he was in that Merlin-forsaken orphanage. And even then, his plays at the park had been few and far between. He could almost admit to himself that it felt good to do these things once in awhile. Continuing in a much quieter voice, Tom blustered on, "I wanted to find out more about you—because you truly intrigue me, Harry Evans. I asked many people to tell me who and what you were, and there was this particularly annoying witch by the name of Hermione Granger. She was quite the know-it-all and her bush of a hair gave my heart quite the squeeze, no offense meant," he said quickly.

Harry's eyes curved and his lips twitched. "No, no, it's all right. She usually comes off that way, at any rate."

Tom nodded, then proceeded telling the Healer of how she had first gushed on about him being a model, then when she realized he swung the other way, she spent the first half-hour appalled that his tastes lay in the other 'team', then the other half threatening him about Harry's virtue. "Apparently, she guessed why I called her there." Tom snorted rather inelegantly. "You know, she had me nearly up the wall, admonishing me to not hurt you and that she gave me her blessings to do anything I wanted. At first, I was a bit terrified, but I slowly realized that maybe it was a good thing. It seems that from the way of things," said Tom in an amused tone, "that Hermione is a good friend of yours."

"Best friend, in fact," Harry affirmed, hands behind his head in what seemed like the prisoner of war stance, barring the fact that he looked happy to be there with Tom instead of sad. He gave Tom a flickering smile and said, "She's stuck-up and brainy, I'll give you that, but she has a good set of shoulders, and her heart's in the right place."

"But blessings?" spoke up Tom dubiously.

Harry shrugged brusquely. "She's also a romantic asides from a mother hen," he explained, after swinging a few moments or two. "She thinks that if someone gets me off of my high horse, or in her words, 'carries me bridal style through the church doorways', then I'd become a more agreeable person." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I rather like being bitter and taciturn, if you know what I mean," Harry added.

"No I don't, and I already am that way, so at least we both have some similarities," Tom said, airily waving a hand in the air. "Besides, I don't think you need a knight in shining armor—or in this case, a knight in dragonhide armor, to sweep you off your feet."

Harry laughed again, his warm voice resonating throughout the empty park. "No, I don't think I ever did."

-

-

Giving a jerky nod as Harry bid him goodbye, Tom disapparated back to his rooms in the Leaky Cauldron, slumping onto the bed, boneless. Regardless of rumpling his fine clothing, Tom fell asleep, exhausted.

His sleep was pleasant. There were no dreams, no tossing and turning like he usually did, and surprisingly, no drooling onto his pillow. It seemed as though the date with Harry truly did wear him out. When morning arrived with its usual drab sunlight, Tom swept out of bed, stretching like a cat. He practically glowed as he did his usual morning routine—he even went so far as to greet Tom the Innkeeper by his name on the way out. The man had stopped in his tracks to gape at him, as he twirled down the streets gracefully, crimson robes billowing impressively about.

"Lor' luv a duck! Hey Tom, get me da usual, an' make i' snappy! Know what I mean?" asked a brown haired wizard, stroking his peppery-colored goatee, forehead creased in concentration.

"Yea, yeah, Felix, I gotcha," Tom the Innkeeper answered, bustling to get the man's order. "Chilled wine, stewed vegetables, and sautéed potatoes, you be." He placed it daintily onto Felix's table, gaining a smile of thanks from him. The wizard dug in, and for awhile there was silence. Then Felix slurred,

"Lawd above! Why is what pret'y boy model so chipper in da mornings? It puts all da damned unicorns ter shame!"

The Innkeeper shook his head at the man's Cockney accent.

"Sorry Felix, I dunno. The only thing I do know is that he had a very nice sleep last night." At that statement, they both broke out into guffaws.

-

-

As Tom glided to Flourish and Blotts, he bumped into a freckled face wizard with flaming red hair. He dropped his books onto the cobblestone street, and hastily bent to pick it up. Tom squatted and grabbed a book entitled, '_Forty-one ways to make your wizard as happy as can be'_, passing it over to the red haired man. "Nice choice in books," Tom commented, a smile blooming on his face as the stranger blushed to the color of his hair.

Striking pale-green eyes met his, and Tom blinked, the stranger's face suddenly quite familiar to him.

"George Weasley, of the Wizarding Wheezies Corporation?" he said, eyebrows raised.

Fred chuckled, helping himself up. "Nah, I'm Fred Weasley," said the lanky redhead, bowing with a flourish. "Georgey-boy has slate-gray eyes, whereas I, the infinitely better-looking twin, have green." Tom laughed outright at the man's audacity, and smoothed his robes and hair down, casting a dazzling smile to Fred, who winked playfully back in return.

"If you know my name, can I have the pleasure of knowing yours?" Fred asked, already knowing who Tom was by the knowing glimmer in his eyes.

"Tom Riddle," Tom smiled.

"Well, Tom, want to grab something at Florean's?" Fred asked.

Tom thought for a moment, then agreed. He didn't really have a destination in mind when he left _The Leaky Cauldron_, so he didn't see why not. He accompanied the redhead to a sunny spot outside the quaint ice cream parlor, sitting in the proffered seat that Fred had gentlemanly taken out for him.

"Be right back, heard your favorite flavor from Harrison was vanilla!" Fred hurried inside the shop, and through the large windows, Tom spotted Fred talking animatedly to Florean Fortescue, the owner of the shop. They seemed to be having a heated argument, until Fred jabbed a finger at the menu, and Fortescue could only nod and do as he was told. Considering this, a paying customer was a paying customer. After much shuffling around in the back, the bushy-bearded man handed Fred two elegant glasses; Fred then pressed three galleons into the man's awaiting palm and waved jubilantly to him in thanks.

The bell from atop the door jingled as Fred made his way out and back to Tom, grinning manically. "Hey, try this out—it's vanilla gelato with a waffle biscuit," said Fred, digging into his own hazelnut flavored one. "Watch it, or it might melt!" When Tom didn't do anything except stare, Fred put his spoon down, giving Tom a deadpanned look. "Hey mister model—yeah, you—you should try it out. Before it melts," Fred said again, in a sing-song voice.

Tom just sighed and reluctantly popped a spoonful into his mouth. Suddenly, his eyes grew large, the heavenly assault in his mouth causing him to moan almost wordlessly.

Fred beamed at Tom's obvious ecstasy. "Told you it was good," he said smugly. Watching Tom shove a few more spoonfuls, Fred then said genially, "I know Harry from way back in our school days, you know."

Tom's eyebrows elevated. "And I should care because…?" he drawled.

"Because I can tell you all about him!" crowed the redhead in an enthused manner, lips twisting into a broader grin. "Did you know that his first kiss was Draco Malfoy?"

That caused Tom's to face-fault and choke on his gelato. Primly wiping his mouth he did the only thing he could think of and shout, "_WHAT?!_" Fred's grin turned smug.

"Yeah, the Malfoy heir seems to be a good kisser, from what I've heard from Charlie," confessed Fred in a guilty tone, but his mirthful eyes belied his contrite air. "They snogged under the Christmas Holly, in me 'n George's seventh year. They were sixth year then, and I wondered if they were pissed from Butterbeer." In a much nicer tone, Fred continued, "Ginny was going out with Harry by then, and she was so furious that she dragged Harry back to the Common Room and yelled at him. I don't think Harry really liked her, seeing as though he dumped her then and there, in front of the whole Gryffindor House."

Eyebrows nearly to his hairline, Tom said, "So that's how he dropped her." He then abruptly changed the subject, "And do you know who Draco's mate is? I heard he's not from a prestigious line."

Fred sniggered. "Yeah. And fortunately for the whole of wizarding communities, it's not Pansy Parkinson." The two shared a laugh, knowing what Fred referred to. The pug-faced witch was one of the most irritating beings in the whole entire Wizarding world, and she had thought she would marry Draco, if it weren't for the fact that he was a veela. Apparently, she had forgotten about his lineage. And it was such a scandal when Pansy slapped Draco silly in front of his own father. The Wizarding media had been on Pansy's arse for weeks.

Fred's face straightened and he said, "His mate is a male from America's Wiccan Academy, there in Oregon. He had a righteous fit when he found out that his aimé was a pauper, and his beloved—well, that poor, cute boy was even reluctant to admit he liked Draco."

"Lucky him," remarked Tom dryly.

Nodding, Fred ate the last of his gelato and stretched. "Well, since you want to know more about Harry, just know that he has two sides to his personality, like a coin."

"Like a…coin?"

"Yeah. Like heads or tails. Usually, the 'heads' of Harry's personality is what you normally see. But when he's alone and…" Fred's lips puckered into a thoughtful frown, and his features settled into a reserved look, "near any natural habitations, his other half is shown."

"Have you ever seen him that way?" queried Tom softly, finishing his own gelato respectively.

"Unfortunately," said Fred solemnly. He sighed wistfully and stayed silent for a moment, then said, "It was only a year ago, when Ronnikins asked Harry to go to New Zealand with him. Ron was on an Auror mission, and he needed a Medi-witch there." Fred looked dazed, recalling the memory with grim precision. "I followed them because mum and dad told me to, and George was busy running the business, since it was his turn and all. Anyway, you know how pretty and idyllic New Zealand is, with the rolling green hills and all the greenery?"

"Yes," responded Tom. "I've been there twice, on a modeling contract." He didn't go into further detail.

Fred smiled. "Yeah, well, when they both reached the forest, Harry became quiet and withdrawn, as if he was trying to keep another part of himself asleep. Don't know why he did the things he did, but he did. When I stopped to get a swig of water from my bottle, Harry told me to come out and Ron was angry that I had been following all along. He sulked, but eventually, after the first three days, he forgave me. It wasn't until a week passed that we ran into a couple of dark wizards near the Aoraki Mountain, and Harry just… lost it." Fred sighed again, ruffling his curly red hair with a slim hand. "It was weird, seeing him just _kill _people so mercilessly without a wand. Even after the mission, Harry didn't talk to us for months. I'm lucky that he even talks to me now!" He laughed, then sobered quickly.

"You best be on your toes if you plan on pursuing Harry," Fred said in such a serious voice that a pit in Tom's stomach formed. Lucius' words also rang in his head ominously, like a death guilt trip that refused to lay low:

_"Be careful if you plan to woo the Healer."_

Tom could only mutter, "I don't plan to give up. Ever."

"Good, because he'll need you," said Fred.

-

-

They had met again, somewhere in Ben Nevis, the highest peak in the British Isles. When Tom apparated there, he saw Harry sitting on a wet clump of grass, ruining his expensive formal suit. His silver tie was thrown over his shoulder haphazardly, and his hair was more windblown than ever. Tom stifled a laugh as he conjured a chair and sat besides Harry. "How are things, Harry?" he asked.

The Healer sighed. "Good. I just thought you'd like to see me for who I am," he said, cracking an iridescent eye open. He looked sad, almost forlorn.

"Why?" Tom said, eyebrows furrowing.

"Because, you deserve to know." That was all Harry said, as he stood up, stretched, and let out an ear-shattering roar. Harry's hands (why hadn't Tom noticed this before?) were slender, but long, razor-sharp nails adorned the fingertips, dangerous to all. His eyes were more slitted and his face contorted into an almost feline visage. Rather triangular, but beautiful nonetheless.

"This," Harry rumbled out, gesturing with his hand out, "is the real me. Sort of freaky, isn't it?"

Tom shook his head slowly and said, "No, I find you…" He breathed in, and let his eyes linger on Harry's impressive form. "Captivating."

Leaning down, Harry stared straight into Tom's eyes, unwavering in his intensity. He didn't say anything, only stared.

"Can I kiss you?" he finally murmured.

Tom did an uncharacteristic thing and blinked. "…All right," he answered, surprised. He was delighted, but nevertheless surprised at Harry's straightforwardness. And they only knew each other for a day! This caused Tom's mind to blink out for a mere second. Then, protesting, Tom said, "But we've only known each other for a day—or maybe even less!" He had no idea why he was objecting to it… but he wanted to know Harry. The real Harry.

The green-eyed man broke out into a brilliant smile, and he backed away from Tom, laughing affectionately.

"Good," stated Harry, smile broadening at Tom's disbelieving look. "_No_, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly." He crooked a finger at him and continued, "That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how." But then, Harry laughed again. "However, you chose me, a person who doesn't know how to kiss at all."

He was tackled to the ground by Tom, who couldn't help but laugh with him.

"When you put it that way, I'd rather kiss a rampaging Hippogriff!"

Perhaps, a slow relationship like this would last after all.

They rolled around in the damp grass, their laughter ringing around them and racing down the peak to reach startled ears.

Harry, from the look on his face, was more happy than he ever was, and Tom let him indulge on that. And at that moment, Tom realized something.

_This_ was it, he thought. His feelings were pure and simple. He wanted to _know _the real Harry Evans. Not the Healer, not just Harry or Evans, but the whole person, through and through.

...And even if there was more to Harry than meets the eye, Tom still had tomorrow to figure the man out. After all, tomorrow was another day, and that meant infinite possibilities.

He suddenly pecked Harry on the nose and earned another warm laugh, causing his skin to tingle and cheeks to flush.

Yes, Tom thought, content as he lay side by side next to Harry. Tomorrow was another day.

7777777

_**END**_


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